The Vagaries of International Football

By Omoseye Bolaji

“Nigeria has scored against Nigeria!”. Since I was a kid this haunting phrase reeled out on national radio on the national radio service of Nigeria has provided a shattering source of pathos; this was in 1978 when Nigeria was knocked out of the World Cup qualifying series as Godwin Odiye somehow scored an own goal that benefited Tunisia who then represented Africa at the World Cup finals.

The whole country was thrown into mourning, as the now late icon of the air waves, Ernest Okonkwo, informed countless millions that “Nigeria has scores against Nigeria!!” It became etched in one’s memories over the year; over the decades. Indeed in those days my generation felt that the world had come to an end and Nigeria would never make it to any World Cup finals.

Not only was the hapless Odiye disconsolate; the whole of the excellent then Green Eagles squad was shattered – from keeper Okala to superb winger Adokiye Amesiemeka. Such fine players like Muda Lawal, Segun Odegbami, Christian Chukwu – they had given their all during the campaign but now it was ending in tears. Looking back, it seemed as if one waited FOR EVER for the Eagles to finally qualify one day (1994) Now they have appeared there at least four times

Such early memories came flooding back as South Africa’s Bernard Parker scored a debilitating own goal against his own country whilst playing Ethiopia in vital world Cup qualifier the other week. It was a game that had been billed as do or die for South Africa as they met Ethiopia who were in the ascendancy in that particular group. It was a game Bafana had to win; or at worst not lose. But in the end they lost as striker Parker incredibly scored a header against his own team in such a macabre, freakish manner.

Despite this latest disappointment, at least South Africa has appeared at the World Cup finals a number of times over the last fifteen years or so; in 1998, 2002, and of course in 2010 when the country became the first African country to host the World Cup.

Trenchant memories, starting from the moment South Africa learnt they were going to host the tournament. Iconic Nelson Mandela himself in tears some ten years ago when it was finally confirmed by powers that be that South Africa had won the bid to host the world…Archbishop emeritus Desmond Tutu prancing around like a kid with unbridled joy too…such transcendent euphoria.

And how remarkable and unforgettable it was as South Africa hosted the world in 2010, we all basked in it…the incredible atmosphere, jabulane, (merriment) and patriotism. Everybody seemed to get involved, despite the intense cold…with ladies and kids clad in the colours of the nation, grins and camaraderie all over.

Alas, South Africa never did pull up mammoth trees during the tournament itself despite a pleasing 2-1 win over France in 2010. As for Nigeria the country often flattered to deceive at the finals with the 1994 campaign the most impressive as mighty Italy was almost put to the sword in the second round. And inexplicably it all ended in tears in 1998 as a superb Eagles squad – which had beaten Spain – somehow crumbled like soufflé against Denmark. Ah well…

But back to the present (2013). It was Ethiopia’s turn to celebrate in exceeding fashion after ensuring they topped the group (which included South Africa) and were closer to going to Brazil, after knocking South Africa out. Not that anyone really underestimated Ethiopia after their scintillating performances at the last version of Africa Cup of Nations which South Africa had hosted.

Really, the damage was done right on South African soil when the national team, Bafana Bafana could not defeat the Ethiopian side. With the latter’s record at home any chances of South Africa winning the return in Addis Ababa was quite tenuous, if one wanted to be realistic.

Yet nobody could have imagined the effervescent striker Bernard Parker morphing from hero to zero in the match. He it was who scored what seemed like a priceless first goal for South Africa in the first half; then he had the misfortune of thundering in a header, an OWN goal that put paid to any Bafana Bafana progress… cue memories of Odiye many years ago.

As for the Super Eagles, this time around, they are still very much on track for Brazil 2014. Incidentally South Africa might also have some sort of reprieve, due to a technicality. We shall see…

GREY AREAS OF ABUSE

By Omoseye Bolaji

The foyer was not as cold as I thought it would be, despite the advent of exceeding winter in South Africa. I was at PACOFS, repository of arts and culture where a couple of events about to commence had stirred my interest. But at the moment I was relaxing outside at the foyer.

It was just some twenty minutes from 6 o’clock in the evening but already it was almost dark. That’s winter for you! I watched a number of people going hither and thither – virtually all of whom were thinking of making a beeline for a place of warmth, better still, getting to their places of abode. But arts and culture, like myriad of other things still go on despite winter!

Then I saw a lady, a young lady probably in her early 20s walking towards me. She was of average height, quite plump and clad in a black coat. A scarf was around her hair. She shivered a bit, though to be honest it was not really cold. She got to my side and said: “Ntate Bolaji, I am sorry if I’m disturbing you,”

I smiled. “You are not,” I said. “As you can see I am doing nothing. I…”

She said almost primly: “You are waiting for the play to start? The one put on by Mr Duma (Mpikeleni Duma) Ihobe?’ she said.

“Ja, you seem to know everything,” I said. I was trying hard to remember: where had I met this lady before? Once again I was ashamed of myself for my poor memory in such matters. But I tried to keep up the pretence as if I remembered her well; not that I was deceiving her!

She said: “You don’t remember me? I was in this play (Ihobe) in 2011, the first run…you even wrote my name in your review of the play on the internet then. You remember?”

“Of course,” I lied. “Don’t tell me you are still part of the cast now…”

“No, but I wanted to see the play again,” she vouchsafed. She paused. “Actually for a long time I wanted to talk to you about your book, one of your books, the play, the – ah, transgressor?”

“The subtle transgressor?” I probed. My one and only published play!

“Yes, that’s the one Ntate,” the lady said. “I actually read the Sesotho translation first, before the English one. The plight of Kate interests me, the way she was abused (i.e sexually molested) by her father,” She paused again. “You see, I can identify with her; it happened to me when I was a young girl too,”

I winced. What can one say in a case like this? But she added: “Oh, not my father of course, it was an Uncle of mine who took my innocence away when I was young.  People don’t understand these things. He kept on telling me how much he loved me; he became insanely jealous when he saw a young man, or rather boy, with me. But I knew what he was doing to me was wrong, very wrong; the fact he somewhat swore me to secrecy then was proof of this. He would shower me with gifts, buy me lots of clothes – we ladies treasure our wardrobe. You know how it is,”

I grinned. “Personally I have no wardrobe,” I said. She laughed, and continued: “So I can empathise with young Kate in your book, your play,” she added. “It was a terrible experience for me too, but as you get older you put things in perspective. I know two ladies who were raped by three four men at a time. Thank goodness that has never happened to me,”

“You know,” I said gravely, “that Uncle of yours can still be punished for what he did to you…let him spend many years in jail! Pig!”

She smiled. “Let him go to jail? No! I can’t do that to him. He’s always been sweet in his own way despite what he did…anyway he’s old, older… and sick now. I can never let him go to jail…”

I stared at her. This was a twist I had not expected.

The Lachrymose Worthy

By Omoseye Bolaji

He wept like a baby…earth-shaking, shuddering sobs punctuated with intermittent wiping of his face with his handkerchief. I would have been embarrassed, but though I had not seen him for well over two years, I knew his predilection.

Now inside this joint, he looked as point-device as ever; impeccably dressed his handsome, light complexioned face full of bonhomie and goodwill. He had a bow-tie on as he had been sipping his drink intermittently. Even the bar man here was smiling as he said to me: “It’s been a long time Ntate (that is the ‘weeping guy’) was here, eh?” My mind went back to my acquaintanceship with the ‘weeping’ gentleman which started at least six years ago.  

In the beginning, I was impressed with what we might refer to as his “punctilious” habits; the gentleman was always seated on a particular swiveling chair here, and he would sip his drinks slowly. His sartorial mien - and good looks – which reminded one of ‘aristocrats” as it were, made him stand out. I used to refer to him as “patrician” in the beginning; a description he loathed. Then we became closer at the time and talked.

The thing is – I discovered this South African gentleman was very very sensitive indeed. He became very sad and lachrymose over what I felt were perhaps trifles; but this was because of his genuinely benign, decent character. He would just suddenly burst into tears whilst talking about his dismay about some “prejudice” against “black foreigners”

“I don’t like the way some of my people (South Africans) talk about, or treat foreigners, our own black brothers,” he would start, tears suddenly flowing down his cheeks. “It’s inhumane, how can they do this? You guys helped us during apartheid – apart from teaching us so many things about geo-socio-politics in general – and now I don’t like the way some of us treat you as if you are lepers, calling you very bad names. It’s not good! It’s not right!” and he would burst into florid tears.

This, alas reached a peak in 2008 during the ill-starred “xenophobic attacks” in South Africa where some foreigners were viciously treated, even killed. One must point out that such attacks did not take place in the region where I stayed, but the effect was still there. On the part of my “weeping friend” when he saw me at this epochal time he surpassed himself!

He held me to him like a baby crying with such poignancy and melancholy that I was quite worried that he might even die right there on the spot. He lamented what “his people” were doing. Embarrassed, I tried to calm him down – now, people were staring at us near the post office where we were.

But that worthy wept on, inconsolably. “My friend,” he said, not even bothering to wipe his tears. “These things break my heart, Ntate Bolaji,” he wailed, genuine pathos in his voice. “I do not understand how we Blacks can do this to ourselves. The whole of Africa, and Blacks in Diaspora supported us fervently when we were under the yoke of apartheid. How can we do this to ourselves?”

But the diverse currents of life flow on and we had both disappeared from each others’ lives as it were for years. Then recently, (2003) after quite an absence from where he used to sit placidly and drink, there he was again; perched on the self-same seat! Initially, we stared at each other, temporarily speechless; then we hugged each other fervently.

Then he began to cry again! “My brother, it’s been too long; I’ve only seen you or your stories, or new books in the media. I heard you have been quite sick over the last few years,” He stared at me. “Thank God you look fine and fresh though!” And as if this positive aspect was depressing to him, he cried on even further, taking out an immaculate white handkerchief to dab his face.

Seems some things never change!

Young Axe Maniac annihilates own family!

By Omoseye Bolaji

One of the inevitable tragedies of this world is how bad news, terrible news, not only travels fast with gusto, but is given a lot of primacy across the board. Hence daily, even hourly around the globe horrific, disturbing stories are churned out by the mass media; of the in-your-face variety really.

This can be complemented by the hoary saying that “bad news sells,” and that’s the way it is; including atrocities committed around the world which has now assumed a horrendous visual tinge with the modern internet redolent with ghastly events like beheadings, torture, blood and gore.

In South Africa there is no running away from the fact that a lot of crime, violence, including murders, take place regularly. The media latches onto such stories with transcendent relish, as one would expect. But despite the fact that one has got used to such scenarios, it was still a terrible shock when the news broke here in South Africa that a 14 year old had hacked many members of his own family to death! 

The facts are as follows:

The South African police arrested a 14 year old boy for hacking to death three family members with an axe after two siblings escaped and called for help. Initially it was reported that four family members were killed, but apparently, the grandmother somehow survived the horrific attack (but four deaths are bad enough!). 

The 14 year-old was arrested shortly after the grisly murder of his mother, grandmother, brother and baby sister "It's alleged that he used an axe and then attacked them while they were sleeping," police confirmed. The boy's eight-year-old and nine-year-old sisters ran away during the killings at the Etwatwa informal settlement east of Johannesburg. "The sisters informed the neighbours what was happening at the house and in the mean time the boy ran away," 

The Police would later track down the teen by midday. The mother, 42, was found dead in the corrugated iron-shack the family lives in, while the three-month-old sister was found dead in a nearby field. The brother, 7, died in hospital. Police searched for the murder weapon. The boy would later appear in the Benoni Magistrates court.

As one would expect, the society reeled with the news, starting with the immediate neighbours of the pertinent family who were thrown into consternation. People ran hither and thither as the news broke and the police soon zeroed in on proceedings.

Why would a boy of 14 do such a horrific thing? Speculation still continues here; with a medley of theories put forward; including the possibility of the boy being on drugs, dabbling in Satanism , or his just being plain unhinged So how come the patent signs were not obvious earlier; or maybe they were?

I was at a seminar where this incident was inter alia touched upon; with a Black female psychologist being queried as to why such an incident could not be nipped in the bud. She explained that in the ‘townships’ even if there was an initial suspicion of a particular individual being mentally disturbed, it would be unseemly for ‘outsiders’, including Black professionals just to wade in and shove their oar in, as it were.

Isn’t this a familiar scenario across Africa these days? Are we still our brother’s keeper?

It is also clear that the youth these days are very much disturbed with the litany of material things, pursuits tantalising their lives. Put very simplistically, a very young lady wants the best things in life, including smart phones, clothes and the like; whilst young boys are under pressure to show that they are “strong and comfortable’ enough to provide the good things of life for their very young female peers (girlfriends) Is it any wonder that more and more of them are going off at a tangent, or becoming more and more bizarre?

Meanwhile experts ponder the depressing fact that South Africa has one of the highest murder rates outside war zones. Just under 16,000 people were killed between 2011 and 2012, according to official statistics…